


A Small Revenge

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 21:49:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Lieutenant Nathan Crosley is out for revenge.  His ultimate target? Lieutenant Craig Garrison who had testified against Crosley during that West Point hazing scandal.   He knew directly targeting a fellow officer wouldn't go down well with his new commander; still, there were other options, and a little research gave him a place to start.  Nothing that would cause a real stink, not to start with - just a small revenge for past offenses.An interesting thing - some measurements are finite.  One inch is always one inch, a mile always a mile - easily understandable from one individual to the next.  'Small', however, is more of a relative term, far more subjective, depending a great deal on the individual using that term.  Just something to think on.
Kudos: 4





	A Small Revenge

Major Kevin Richards wasn't there on official business, was only there to meet a friend for a drink. He really needed a little down time, time away from all things military, and other than noting the two MP's discussing something over by the check-in desk, this hotel, one of the better ones in London, seemed to fit the bill. There was not another uniform in sight and he could actually relax and . . . 

He groaned at the sight of the slender man coming in the door. {"Goniff! And in evening dress? What on earth is the blasted man up to now??! Well, it's probably best to pretend I didn't see him. If I get involved, Matthews and I never WILL get that drink and have our long conversation we've been planning!"}

Still, he kept glancing over, watching out of the corner of his eye, enough Deke Matthews asked "is there something wrong, Kevin? You seem awful jumpy all of a sudden."

"No, of course, not. Now, just how many years has it been since that little bit of scandal, Deke? Did you ever live it down?" Richards answered, with a huff of laughter.

Still, his eyes kept watching, and his gut started twitching, and he had the annoying feeling that his evening was starting to go amiss. Now, even after Goniff had disappeared, he still felt it - trouble was brewing. 

He firmly told himself once again - he was there meeting a friend for a drink, not to get involved in whatever mischief one of Garrison's men might be up to.

Still . . .

There had been something wrong with that picture, though he wasn't quite sure what. Something about the three men standing in the corner of the lobby, sliding back into the shadows the moment Garrison's man had come into view. Then, the slightly puzzled look on the Cockney's face as he surveyed the room, as if not expecting to see what he'd expected, or maybe who. A uniformed bellhop caught sight of him, moving forward to offer a few words - that had cleared the confusion from Goniff's face, and Richards had watched as the man quickly moved toward the stairs. 

Just why he'd followed, he didn't really know. Whatever Garrison's pickpocket was up to was really none of his business. Still, he was troubled, and when that same bellhop returned from carrying another guest's luggage a few minutes later, he found himself intercepting him, even summoning his friend Matthews along with a quick jerk of his head. He realized ruefully that he might regret this, both the following AND bringing along a witness to whatever was going on, but still, it seemed the thing to do.

Richards hesitated at the doorway the bellhop had indicated. The door was too thick to hear anything from within, but his intuition was yanking at him ferociously, far more than the gentle nudge he was more accustomed to getting from that useful entity. Jerking his head once again at the man accompanying him, ignoring that puzzled frown, he carefully turned the key he'd insisted the desk clerk hand over, turned the knob pushed the door open, and froze in shock. 

Without a second thought, he pulled the revolver he always wore, and snarled, "get away from him, now!" 

"Matthews, help Goniff up, get him out of here, into my car. And let those MP's downstairs I have need of them, if you would be so kind."

Garrison blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked at his pickpocket, dressed in evening clothes, now in considerable disarray, his eyes at first seeming to signal severe distress as blue eyes met green, then quickly shuttering to show nothing at all. 

Looking at the British office standing there, Garrison moistened his suddenly dry lips. 

"Richards? What the hell?" Garrison had heard the car drive up, the door to the Mansion open and close, and had hurried to get dressed and get downstairs. Visitors this late were rarely a good thing.

The explanation was quick and harsh, and during the whole thing, Garrison's pickpocket hadn't moved from his position, hadn't shifted his remote gaze away from that far corner, that patch of nothingness that seemed to have his full attention.

Richards had left, casting one last uncertain look at the man he'd personally escorted to Garrison. No words had been exchanged between the pickpocket and the British officer after their arrival at the mansion, not til Richards was headed out the door. Then, a raspy, pained voice - "Major?"

Richards stopped, "yes, Mr. Grainger?" Not his usual mode of address, but at this moment, it seemed right.

Goniff licked his lips, hesitated, then looked at the major, nodded carefully. "Thanks."

Richards had forced a slight smile to his face, nodded in return and was gone.

"Goniff? Goniff, please, talk to me." Nothing. No matter what Garrison said, there was no response, not even after Garrison had drawn the man into his office, settled him onto one side of the small couch.

Finally, his voice cracking, wanting desperately to enfold that slight figure seemingly made of ice, looking so lost, he tried a different approach, one he'd rejected earlier for fear of making things worse.

"Will you . . . ". He started again, "will you let me touch you? Put my arm around you? Or is that too much right now?"

That shattered the ice, those blue eyes slowly becoming alive once again, no longer remote, now wide and full of emotion. 

"Let you? 'Ell, Craig, would give anything . . . We're at the Mansion, though, not The Cottage. You can't . . ."

But, in truth, was the comfort being offered any less than what Garrison would have offered any of his men if they'd been attacked? No, not really. 

Perhaps it would have come in a different way, a firm hand to the shoulder, but even this wouldn't have been impossible. That there was an added layer, between the two of them? That was something they both acknowledged, but, now, gratefully refused to let it prevent that comfort from being given, being shared.

Actor had heard all the activity, glanced out the window to see the major's car arrive, the officer and Goniff enter. He'd waited, along with Chief and Casino, for their team mate to join them, but that hadn't happened. Now, still waiting, even though they'd seen the car leave, Actor was delegated to run a sortee. 

After all, Goniff hadn't been particularly forthcoming about his intentions that afternoon, after he'd taken that odd phone call, probably because he didn't have many details either. "Said I wasn't to brunt it around, that 'e wants me to meet 'im in London, something about a job. Course, me telling you guys, 'e'd 'ave to expect that, wouldn't want me to not," he'd told Chief and the others. 

A puzzled look had come then. "Said 'e wanted me to be in evening togs; sounds more like one of your jobs, Actor, though maybe 'e needs a 'igh-toned pocket or two to be picked," Goniff had said with a shrug. "Might 'ave said more, but the phone was acting up again, cutting in and out. Could 'ardly make out 'is voice at times."

Then Garrison had returned around seven o'clock, but alone, and more than a little distracted by the sheaf of paperwork he'd brought back with him, closeting himself in his office immediately. None of them had wanted to ask whether he'd dropped Goniff off at The Cottage, though it seemed the likely reason for the pickpocket not to be with him.

Now, it was obvious that hadn't been the case, but just what WAS, that was something else.

Knocking gently on the office door, softly asking that question, "is something wrong, Craig?" getting a quiet "come in, Actor", he did so. 

Now, he wondered if he'd heard wrong, whether he was intruding. He saw Goniff sitting on the small couch, shoulders hunched, leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, Garrison's head bent over him, one arm across the smaller man's shoulders. He repeated his "is something wrong?" realizing even as he said it that it had been a foolish question, for obviously something was very wrong.

Garrison lifted his head, said in a low tone, "Actor, bring the first aid kit, will you? Goniff ran into some trouble. Not of his doing, but he needs some tending."

Chief and Casino had come down when Actor had passed the Dorm, whispering in "Goniff's hurt; I don't know what happened yet." They were now waiting in the doorway to the office to hear what had happened.

Actor learned the details as he helped inventory the injuries Goniff had suffered. A good battering, but nothing like what it could have been. Nothing like what had been intended, but prevented by the interference by Major Richards.

Goniff attemped a smile, "never thought I'd be 'appy an officer decided to stick 'is nose into my business, but Richards getting suspicious - 'ave to say, a ruddy angel wouldn't 'ave looked any better to me then seeing 'im standing there, 'olding that gun." 

He'd shuddered again, remembering the trap, the men, all that had happened and all that had been promised would happen. He hadn't been in that kind of a situation for some time, and never wanted to be again. 

Garrison ventured a hard squeeze to his shoulder, getting a mute look of gratitude in return, and then the others had closed in, offering a similar hand to the shoulder, some other touch, some murmured word of support.

That the matter had been brushed aside, despite the complaint from Garrison, despite the hard words from Major Richards, wasn't as much a surprise as some might have expected. That Lieutenant Crosley's commanding officer had decided it had been perhaps 'ill-advised' of the Lieutenant and his friends to take on 'disciplining' Garrison's man personally for that 'impropriety', but that really, Garrison really should have better control of his scruffy team - that hadn't been all that surprising either, though it got some exceedingly harsh treatment in the Common Room.

Now the Dragon was back and at the Mansion, hearing the story. The men had heard the story before, of course, but for Meghada, it was new, since she'd just gotten back from a training assignment in Scotland. Now, she listened, heard Garrison's bitter assessment, trying to take the blame as usual, though she had no question about where to put the blame, and it wasn't on anyone in this room no matter Garrison's explanation.

"I testified against him at West Point, about his hazing some of the younger men there. They didn't kick him out; hazing has always been a part of the culture there, unfortunately. But Crosley carried it to extremes, and there were injuries and parents who were insisting on SOME punishment. It went on his record and he's never forgiven me. 

"But to trick Goniff like that, lead him into an ambush on what was supposed to be a message from me . . .! I should have thought it through when I heard he was in London, should have given them a heads-up."

Meghada had a snarl on her face that Estelle, her sister's wolfhound, would have been hard-pressed to equal, especially after she'd been told "and there's not a damned thing we can do about it! We've been told to stay away from HQ til further notice; oh, the missions go on, but our briefings will be done here. And you can't risk getting involved, either, Meghada. It's too public. Anything happens to him and the others, we're the first place they will come looking." 

With that last, he acknowledged that his prohibition was less qualms about Crosley getting his just deserts than concern for Meghada, for all of them. If he'd had HIS way, Crosley would be staked out on an ant hill somewhere, even if he had to import the ants one by one! And it was obvious the guys each had their own ideas of a fitting punishment. But, like he said, they just couldn't react as they wanted, not without bringing a mountain down on them.

She hadn't liked it, and frankly, neither had the small moss green and rose pink-clad little lady listening from the dark corner of the polished cornice above. THEIR boys, their own sweet boys! the whole lot of them, they were, and the two females were more than a little bitter about the whole thing! 

For Meghada, of course, it went even farther than that! Goniff was her own laddie, and she'd not forgive OR forget such an insult! And a non-forgiving Dragon usually meant big trouble for someone!

But the Sprite? Well, she was only a small Sprite, capable of only small magics, small mischiefs. But she was also capable of love and caring, of anger and determination, and all that was present as she looked on the slender blond man trying to push those memories into a back room in his mind, trying to shut them away where he wouldn't have to keep remembering.

Major Bonner finished reviewing the details of the mission with Lieutenant Crosley. 

"So, I'll assign one of our best to take you in, get you in position to give your assurances to this contact, get the information. The Dragon isn't an agent anymore, not really, because of the way the original contract with her people was written. However, she is usually quite amenable to doing us a favor in a good cause."

Crosley lifted one brow. He might be fairly new in London, but even HE had heard of The Dragon! She was something of a legend around HQ, for more than one reason!

"From what I've heard, that should do quite well. But her alone?"

"She may elect to bring a team; that will be up to her. She speaks the language, French and German, is quite familiar with that area, the layout on the ground; she'll know what is needed."

The following day Lieutenant Crosley was waiting in Major Bonner's office for the ex-agent they called The Dragon. She didn't look all that dangerous, but he'd heard that, with her, looks were very much deceiving. Yes, from all accounts, even if she was a woman, she could probably get the job done.

Her oddly-colored eyes moved to him, taking him in carefully, after Major Bonner made the introduction. 

"Lieutenant Crosley. You are newly-come to London, I believe? But already making a name for yourself, as I have heard," she offered in a soft voice with a polite smile.

He countered with a modest smile of his own. "Well, I don't know about that. I try to do the best job I can."

She nodded at him thoughtfully, then turned back to Major Bonner. 

"This job? What does it entail?" listening carefully as Bonner explained she'd be escorting Lieutenant Crosley to the Priory of Saint Sauveur, Saint-Sauveur-d'Émalieville, there to make contact with someone with information the Allies needed, someone Crosley knew and could identify. 

"You'll go in through LeHavre, then make your way overland from there," Bonner explained. 

There was an oddly speculative look forming on the young redhead's face. She blinked carefully, frowning as if in deep thought.

"LeHavre to Saint-Sauveur. Entering an occupied city, an enemy patrol on most every street corner, a traitor often indiscernable from a patriot til he betrays you. Through occupied territory, ending up at the Priory where it is rumored the Germans have established an outpost. With Lieutenant Crosley."

There was a knife in her hand now, though neither man knew quite where it had come from or when. They found that rather disconcerting. That sharp blade stroked along her jaw, carefully, thoughtfully, as her eyes rested on Crosley. Her eyes had taken on a bit of a sheen, even a glitter now.

"Lieutenant Nathan Crosley, who took it upon himself to initiate and participate in an assault on one of the Special Forces team members. A man from the team under the control of Lieutenant Craig Garrison, who attended West Point the same time you yourself were in attendance. A man who testified to your abusive actions there, resulting in a few black marks in your record. 

"YOU and your friends, Lieutenant, you trapped Goniff Grainger with a false message, supposedly from his commanding officer, sought to do him great harm. WOULD have done him great harm, if not for the intercession of Major Richards. 

"And yet, here you are, not in custody, as might be expected, but free and ready to be dispatched into the field. Now, why would that be, I wonder?"

Crosley reared up, protesting that description of the events, Major Bonner's eyes moving rapidly back and forth between the two. He'd been out of town on assignment of his own til just a couple of days ago, enough he hadn't caught up on all the grapevine traffic yet. This was all news to him.

He frowned at Crosley, "an explanation, please, Lieutenant."

And they both heard a very different account, ending with "and my commander decided it was nonsense, which, of course, it was. Yes, there was a scuffle, but it was NOTHING like what you are describing! Frankly, he was out of line, inappropriately so, totally unacceptable, and we decided he needed a bit of a lesson to prevent him from sullying the uniform. Naturally he told lies instead of admitting to the truth of it!"

"And Major Richards, who happened upon the scene and intervened at pistol-point? Retrieved Mr. Grainger and kept you at bay? Summoned the guards to take you into custody? Is he lying as well?" 

Her voice was polite, just a casual inquiry, no real condemnation within, certainly no deeper emotion.

Crosley flushed. "Major Richards is British. It is perhaps understandable he'd take his countryman's version over ours, though I would have expected better of an officer." 

That explanation was addressed more to Major Bonner than to The Dragon.

Now there was a slight smile on the young woman's face. 

"You, Major Bonner, truly wish me to take the man who intended harm to Goniff Grainger, and thus harm to Lieutenant Garrison, both valuable members of Special Forces, behind enemy lines, into a situation, an area where the dangers are unlimited. Where almost anything could happen."

The smile was increasing slowly, and that knife kept making that trip along her cheek and jawline, and together that brought the hair on the back of their necks to full attention.

"You are ASKING me to do this. Of your own free will, you are asking this." 

She paused and yes, there was an unholy gleam in her glittering gold-brown eyes and her lips were slightly parted in what appeared to be eagerness.

"Oh, I would be most delighted to do as you ask, Major Bonner. Would even pay good money to be given the opportunity to do so," and she licked her lips in anticipation.

Suddenly, the whole idea just didn't seem such a good one anymore, and it was with some disappointment the Dragon left, being told, basically, that "I'll get back to you on our final decision, Miss O'Donnell." 

Somehow, that long considering look the redhead had given Crosley, rather like a hawk contemplating lunch, before closing the door behind her made them both intensely uncomfortable.

Next it was Team Leader Alex Ainsley who was presented with the mission. Major Bonner was starting to get a little impatient, since while that interview hadn't been quite as disturbing as the one prior, still it hadn't been promising. 

It seems that team leader had heard the story as well, and wasn't favorably impressed; was, for some reason, more inclined to believe that damned Cockney's version as well. Lieutenant Crosley decided Ainsley and his team wouldn't suit, not at all.

After Ainsley, it was Micah Davis. While neither Major Bonner or Lieutenant Crosley understood all of what the Australian team leader said, there were certain facial expressions, certain gestures included in the loud response that made for a quick decision to remove Davis and his team from the running for this particular assignment.

Next came Reynolds, and by the time THAT interview as over, Lieutenant Crosley seemed to be developing a permanent twitch. 

Well, Reynolds had worked with Garrison and his men often enough, including that annoying little pickpocket, and if there were sides to be drawn, he'd stick with the men who'd pulled his arse out of the fire.

It seems that story HAD gotten around, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that no one in Special Forces, at least within the teams themselves, whether they were particularly fond of this Goniff Grainger or Lieutenant Garrison, or the whole blasted team for that matter, or not, much appreciated what they'd heard. 

As one of them had expressed in some ire, "let those bleedin desk officers get away with this, thinking we'll just grin and bear it? Who knows who'll be next, they get the notion??! Might not be able to scrag the bastards, but don't have to smile and do the pretty neither!" There wasn't a man or woman present at Silk's at the time who'd disagreed.

Well, Major Bonner had done some checking and he had to admit he was getting the firm impression that the story going around was probably true, for the most part, surprisingly so for something on the oft-mistaken grapevine, but had been swept under the rug so as not to damage either the lieutenant and his compatriots' careers. OR the somewhat fragile relationship between the regular military and the Special Forces units. 

Whatever the intent, that fragile relationship had just become a couple of layers thinner, more precarious, with suspicious looks far more ready to come to the men and women who ran those vital and very dangerous missions in the field. 

Sending an outsider with one of the teams had just become a notch or two more dangerous, trust going to be much more hard-won. Bonner and a few other of the Handlers, the good ones anyway, put that uncomfortable situation squarely at the well-shod feet of the American Lieutenant Crosley and wished him to the very devil!

Still, the job had to be done, and time was running out, and Bonner was finished with trying to finesse the situation. This had to be handled and handled NOW! And he had awakened that morning with an absolutely brilliant solution, one he had the utmost confidence in. And that short conversation with Kevin Richards had confirmed the viability of that solution.

Now, to put it into action and get that information from their informant and put this mess to bed and get Crosley back behind a desk somewhere. Preferably elsewhere.

"Very well! You've been reluctant to accompany any of those whom I've put forth, Lieutenant Crosley. Yes, yes, I can understand your reluctance; it would appear there ARE some hard feelings involved on a rather wide-spread basis. 

"But we cannot delay any longer! I have a field agent who is quite capable; she has been out of the country for some time, probably hasn't had a chance to hear all the gossip and take sides. 

"You leave tomorrow with our contract agent, 'Viper', and I want no arguments about it. Now I understand she is bringing an associate, someone not yet a field agent, but someone quite capable and trusted. I understand she is known as 'Kitten', sounds rather a sweet, gentle thing when not on the job. I am sure they will get you in and out quickly and successfully. They will both probably need to alter their appearance somewhat, which will take a little time. After all, Viper has worked in the LeHavre area enough she would be too easily recognizable otherwise. So you won't make their acquaintance til you board the submarine. Be ready to head out tomorrow at fourteen hundred hours.

"And when you get back, Lieutenant? You might want to consider a transfer. I am not sure you will be of great use to us, you see, what with your propensity for making, well, perhaps not enemies, but certainly un-friends among the Special Forces units! They really ARE a vital part of our operation, no matter how unconventional or non-reg they might be."

Crosley left, stiff-jawed with indignation, but determined to prove just how vital HE was to the operation by impressing everyone with his performance on this upcoming mission. {"Transfer out? Not likely! There's still Garrison to deal with!"}

Major Mark Bonner leaned back in his chair, sipping at the shot glass of whiskey he'd poured himself after that interview was over. He allowed himself the smile of satisfaction he'd denied himself during the whole briefing. He'd done more than listen to the grapevine; he'd gone asking questions, and what he'd learned he hadn't liked in the least. 

When Lieutenant Crosley returned, IF he returned, (and hopefully he would because they really did need that information, and frankly Bonner didn't need the aggravation otherwise), Bonner would keep an eye on him and his friends. 

If they DIDN'T request a transfer, Bonner would pull a few strings to see that it happened anyway. And if they DID transfer out? Bonner would make sure it wouldn't be to the same place for all three, and that their new commanding officers understood what they were getting. It was only fair to the other troops. A predator was a predator, even if he DID wear an officer's insignia.

In the meantime, he was content. The other two men named in the assault were being observed carefully, and Lieutenant Crosley was headed out in the company of 'Viper' and sweet, gentle 'Kitten', both soon to be sporting dark brown hair and brows, and a few other little minor adjustments to their appearance. 

No, Ciena (Code Named 'Viper') and Coura (facetiously nick-named 'Kitten' by her sister on the spur of the moment) didn't have the same time in the field as their older sister, The Dragon, but they were quite capable. The question was, of course, just what they were capable OF. 

Bonner's close friend, Major Kevin Richards, had shuddered, then had given a rueful laugh and shook his head when Bonner has asked about that. Somehow, Bonner found a great deal of satisfaction in Richards' answer. His younger brother had been a victim of an overly-enthusiastic hazing, which possibly influenced his opinion of Lieutenant Crosley and his actions.

"Viper is well-named, no question. As for 'sweet, gentle Kitten'! Sweet! Gentle! Right!!" Richards had almost choked at hearing that description of the youngest O'Donnell sister.

"And as far as what they are capable of? Mark, you really do NOT want to know. Sleep is such a precious thing, you understand. I'd hate to disturb what little you are able to enjoy now."

Still, Richards had done nothing to gainsay the mission, in fact, seemed to get a considerable amount of gratified satisfaction of his own from the idea. That scene he'd burst in on had done more than a little to disturb his OWN sleep, after all.

The trip out had been bad, the seas being rough even for the submarine they were travelling in. Crosley had seen the similarities between the two young women and that one called The Dragon, though no one had mentioned any connection. He decided to leave it that way; bringing that up might open the way for them to somehow figure out the slightly-older woman was less than pleased with him, and he felt that should be avoided at all costs. After all, if they had been away, they wouldn't have heard the story, and that was probably best. Who knows but what THEY might decide to take offense as well.

The cautious journey through LeHavre and the countryside was even worse than the time in the stinking, shuddering submarine. It seemed the two females led him through every slime and urine-drenched alleyway in the place, and then once free of the city, through every jagged wire fence, mud pit, rock slide and mucky field they could find. It was annoying that he found it such heavy-going, while they scarcely hesitated at each new obstacle.

They allowed him little sleep, seeming not to need any themselves, and when he did find time to snatch a few minutes here and there, his dreams were filled with ravening wolves cornering him, snarling, then leaping in to push him to the ground, to tear at his flesh. He could even smell the wet fur, hear their quivering nostrils sniffing his fear-laden sweat with such evident enjoyment, could feel their fetid breath against his neck. 

He would awaken to the inarticulate sounds of terror that were coming from his own mouth, right before a hard hand would clamp itself down, drowning those sounds firmly.

They were obviously disgusted with him, and didn't bother to hide it either. The older had taken it upon herself to chide him on the second day out.

"Sniveling like a babe in arms, you are! Must have been in a different branch of this 'West Point' than Lieutenant Garrison. Seen him in some dire situations, leaking blood like a sieve, and nary a whimper you'd get out of him. You haven't even taken more than a few briar scratches and you'd think you were dying by the fuss you're making! Whimpering in your sleep about the Big Bad Wolf coming after you! What's next, monsters hiding under your blanket? Sheesh! What are you, eight??!"

The other, possibly a year or so younger, though it was hard to tell, had rolled her eyes and complained "I gave up baby-sitting when I was twelve; couldn't stand all the whimpering and whining and messy diapers! Never thought I'd be taking it up again after all this time! Well, I'll tell you one thing, Lieutenant, you go shitting your pants, you can just sit in it or deal with the mess yourself!"

They'd made it to the Priory, though Crosley was in worse shape than he could ever remember being. He ached from head to toe, his nerves were shot, and he wanted nothing more than to get this job done and get back and never venture out on his own again! 

Certainly he never intended to allow himself to be partnered with THESE two harridans again! If The Dragon would have been worse, well, he didn't even want to THINK on that!

Considering the shape of his nerves, it was probably lucky he hadn't heard that whispered conversation, hardly louder than a breath, after they left the Priory, information in hand.

"Do we HAVE to take him back, Ciena? Really? There's ever so much rough ground between us and the exit point, you know. Some caves to the far side of our path, I think, and the chalk pits, and, oh, so many possibilities."

Ciena had glanced at her younger sister, seeing no hint of teasing on her face. Well, it WAS tempting, and she'd had a few thoughts along those lines as well. Goniff was dear to them, not in the same way as to their sister, true, but still, like a brother he was, as was Craig Garrison and the others.

Still, there'd be a devil of a stir if they came back without him, so unless fortune itself took a hand, it was probably best they brought him back. Of course, there was nothing that said he had to be brought back in pristine condition. And if fate DID step in, well, accidents did happen - fortunes of war and all that. Still, Kevin would probably scold.

Taking another look at the man stumbling along, she had to admit that pristine wasn't exactly a description that fit, even now. {"Still, I imagine there's a bit more we can add to his exciting adventure in the field."}

"Yes, Coura. We HAVE to take him back. Alive and breathing, at the least."

Coura gave her a slow, wicked and thoughtful look. Alive and breathing. Well, that left open a lot of available territory, after all, and the exit point was a goodly distance away.

It had taken Crosley days before he felt clean again, days before all the superficial damage had healed, days before he didn't jump when anyone came close to him unawares or unexpectedly tapped him on the shoulder or even spoke too loudly in the corridor. 

Days he spent thinking about how he could really get back at Lieutenant Craig Garrison for all the trouble he'd caused, in the distant past and in the more recent times as well. 

He had a cunning mind, was sure he could come up with something appropriate, though he'd take care not to get caught next time. He'd have to be careful, be satisfied with a small revenge, at least for now - less than what the smug officer deserved, but probably the best he could get away with til the talk died down. A small revenge now, perhaps a string of them, culminating in something larger eventually.

And now, much to his annoyance, he would be working alone, unless he could recruit someone else to help. For some unknown reason, while he'd been off on that secret mission, his two friends had up and transferred out! Now there was loyalty for you!!

He'd only run into Garrison and his men once since the incident, and that was in the hallway outside Major Bonner's office as he and Viper and that smirking Kitten had left after their debriefing. And that female, the ex-agent called the Dragon, had been with them. 

Odd how the sight of her had made him glance at his two 'escorts', his earlier suspicion turning to certain knowledge that they indeed HAD heard about the incident before their departure for LeHavre. Had probably accounted for a great deal of the misery he'd experienced on that trip.

Well, how could it have been otherwise when a nod from the Dragon was accompanied by a warm, "Ciena, Coura. Good trip? Accomplish what you set out to do?" - was answered by hearty chuckles and a joint, "oh, aye, big sister. A fine trip, most satisfactory. Perhaps a wee bit short of what we'd have preferred, but still, satisfactory in the long run."

Garrison and the men had greeted the two young women as well, friendly as all get out, but confined their interaction with him to a cold hard glare, along with a few subdued snarls from the men, especially the one they called Goniff.

He never heard the quiet words from the Dragon after he hastened to continue his solitary way down the hall, his two escorts electing to stay and chat for a bit with Garrison and the others. 

"No, it's not enough, not with him still being upright; but lads, knowing my sweet sisters here, never doubt t'was more than would have been delivered otherwise."

And they decided they had to be satisfied with what they could get. They weren't happy about it, were more than a little bitter, but reconciled, at least for the moment.

THEY were. Not everyone was, however.

He'd been sitting in the Commissary having a sandwich and a cup of coffee, thinking up his new plan of revenge against Garrison when he let out a loud exclamation and slapped at his arm. Leaping up, flailing at the sleeve of his uniform, his coffee cup turned over and sloshed the contents over the table and the floor underneath.

"Damn! What IS it with this place??!" he yelled, getting the attention of everyone in the room.

"Lieutenant? What's the problem?" one of those at the surrounding tables exclaimed.

"Spider! Biggest damned spider I've seen in years! Third time I've spotted one this morning! Don't they ever spray this place??! Damned thing bit me!!"

The spider, though no one had ever seen a large spider in the populated area before, was long gone, though many searched for it, uneasily, especially once they got a look at those fierce bites.

By the time Crosley reached the medical wing, his arm was swollen all the way to the shoulder, the red bite marks turning an odd color, purplish-black, with the discoloration spreading rapidly. By morning . . . 

Well, at least no one had to deal with the formality of a transfer, the lieutenant having already 'transferred' to another location, permanently. Seems one of those bites had the misfortune to strike a vein rather than just flesh.

(When Garrison and his team, when Meghada, got back from their latest missions, feelings were mixed at the news. Well, maybe not SO very mixed. It was more that each of them felt just a little disgruntled at having to abandon the payback each had figured out for Crosley while they were gone. No, not in concert - each, alone, and each had come up with something they felt was appropriate yet that wouldn't bring blowback to the team. If Crosley had been able to get a good look at those various plans, he might have elected to go with the spider after all.)

In the meantime, in the attics of the Mansion, a small Sprite sat listening to the chittering hairy black creature seated next to her on the rafters giving her what she now knew from listening to her 'boys' was called a 'debriefing'. 

It was unfortunate, she thought, that all of her boys were away on one of those 'missions', and even the Dragon was gone away as well; she knew they would have found this quite interesting. Of course, she admitted her friend might make them a little uneasy, and they probably wouldn't have been able to understand his jolly description of what had happened on his 'mission'.

It had taken time, waiting til a jeep was headed to that place called 'HQ'; even more time til her friend had spotted the one the Sprite had described, right down to his nasty stench, getting all that straight from Goniff's uncomfortable memories while he slept. Then, another wait til that jeep was headed back to where the Sprite awaited word of his 'mission', as she'd called it.

Now she reached out one small hand and stroked that round head approvingly, offering him a bit of treat she'd saved just for him, as he finished his chittering. 

"Three times, you say? Oooo, I DO wish I could have been there to watch, but we cannot have all things," she acknowledged. "Some times we must be satisfied in small ways."

After all, she was only a small Sprite, capable of only small magics, small mischiefs. But she was also capable of love and caring, of anger and determination. And she had friends who were willing to do her a favor now and again. With all that, even a small Sprite could accomplish things even the Sons of Adam, perhaps even a Dragon, might not be able to accomplish. And she giggled to herself. {"In some ways, you might even say it was a 'small' revenge!"}


End file.
